I Only Read Good Reviews

Okay, that subject line is a lie. I read the bad ones and cry. But I don't have to cry about the reviews I've received so far for Bookplate Special. (I'm sure disgruntled readers will be posting some pretty nasty ones on Amazon any minute now.)

I don't usually brag (okay, not TOO much at least) about good reviews for my books, but this one really tickled me. (I mean, I love the crack about the plantar's wart.) The Feathered Quill Book Review site is relatively new, and I'm thrilled they wanted to review Bookplate Special. In case you're interested, click here to see the review. Not only that, but they also interviewed! Click here for that, too.

The Richmond-Times Dispatch ran a review on Sunday on their Book Blog, In it they said, "Barrett is skilled at making her characters flawed and fully believable. This book-based book is a perfect autumn read — right down to those smashed pumpkins."
Blush. Then again, as I myself am pretty flawed, maybe it's just easier to make my characters reflect my shortcomings. Either way, it seems like people are liking the book. And I hope they'll take seriously some of the themes featured--like going green and donating to food pantries.

Okay, I have a few more stops on the blog tour, and I'll be plugging them in the next couple of weeks, but after that--and inbetween--it's back to tomfoolery and tommyrot!

I promise.

DIG IN to BOOKPLATE SPECIAL!

What do you get with murder, good eating (with recipes), and a phantom pumpkin smasher? Get ready to chow down on one honey of a BOOKPLATE SPECIAL, which is officially released today!

In BOOKPLATE SPECIAL, Tricia has put up—and put up with—her uninvited college roommate for weeks. In return, Pammy, has stolen $100, among other things. But the day she’s kicked out, Pammy’s found dead in a dumpster, leaving loads of questions unanswered. Like what was she foraging for? Did her killer want it too? To piece the case together, Tricia will have to dive in head-first.…

You can check out an excerpt on my website--click here!

I'll be signing in a bunch of places in the Rochester, NY area in November and December. For a list, click here!

Can't make it to Rochester (and let's face it--we are kind of off the beaten track)? I'd love to send you a bookplate for your copy of Bookplate Special. Just send an email with your name and address to contest @ LornaBarrett.com (to avoid spam, I put spaces in that email address--just take them out, and it'll go through fine).

Rolex, anyone?

It seems like every week I'm being spammed by a new schemer. At first, it was "male enhancement." And don't get me wrong, I'm STILL getting a lot of those kinds of emails. And over the summer, I was getting a lot of solicitations for watches--all kinds of watches. Cheap ones, expensive one, and some of them even came from an address from my own web site. (And believe me, this isn't the first time those addresses have been hijacked. I'm sure there are people in Timbuktu cursing the name Lorraine Bartlett for being inundated with offers of watches, drugs, and god knows what else.)

For the past couple of weeks, I've been bombarded with offers of fake diplomas from some pretty prestigious universities. Hey, with just giving up my credit card number, I could become an instant graduate of Harvard, Yale, Princeton or Smith, and without the bother of attending classes or handing in homework assignments. Pretty cool, huh?
No. Pretty pathetic.

People who fall for these scams are pretty stupid. Sure, put that institution of higher learning on your resume and you might get a call back and maybe even an interview. Okay, some people have even gotten a job with phoney credentials, but somewhere down the line the truth will come out and then humiliation and the unemployment line will be in that person's future. (And try getting a good job after that. Can you say "Walmart Greeter?")

Unlike most people, I check my spam filter several times a day, and that's mainly because I have mail forwarded from my web sites. Some of it is real mail I want to read, and without going to the site itself to retrieve it. But it sure is a pain in the neck to wade through the other crap.

I wish everyone would check their spam filters on a regular basis. You might also find important emails lurking in there. Like maybe newsletters you've signed up for? Many people sign up for my newsletter and then complain they don't get it. Why? Caught in their spam filter. (I advise people who sign up to add my newsletter e-mail to their address books.) And is just so happens -- I sent out my newsletter this morning.
How often do you check YOUR spam filter?

FIRST SIGHTING!!!

It was "dump your old pharmaceuticals" day at my local Wegmans, and boy did our family accumulate a LOT of unused drugs. (It's a shame they can't be given to people who can't afford them. But, up in smoke they'll go.)

So while I was there, I decided to check out the book section and HELLO!!! There it was, Bookplate Special. Three copies--which means one has already been sold. I did a little happy dance and called to a woman who was walking by, "It's My Book!" like I'd never seen a copy of my book for sale before.

What the heck! I'm happy!

If you're local, please check out your Wegmans grocery stores (and even if you're in PA, VA, or NJ, too!) and maybe buy a copy? :)

Weeee! you never get over seeing YOUR new book on a shelf in a store.
Glee!!!

Oops--missed my cue

I've had so much on my mind lately, I forgot that yesterday kicked off my (admittedly limited) blog tour for my new book, BOOKPLATE SPECIAL. I was interviewed by Avery Aames of the Mystery Lovers Kitchen blog. (And I shared a yummy recipe for mini spinach quiches--definitely NOT diet food, but delicious.)

So, if you want to read my pearls of wisdom (?) check it out. (Scroll down to Sunday's entry. Then scroll back up and read Avery's current post. Then scroll down again and read everybody else's posts. They've shared some really cool recipes.)

I've got a number of stops to make on this make-shift blog tour, most in November. I've got them listed on my web site, but will try to mention them here as well.

Yikes! Just seven days until Bookplate Special is released. (I'm not ready!!!)

I MEANT to grow them that small . . .

The veggie garden is done for 2009.  The other day I picked the last of the beans (and what a magnificent crop it was), the peppers, and the lone squash.  The tomatoes were history about a month ago.  The heirlooms succumbed to the blight--so we didn't get to eat even one of them, but the celebrity tomatoes were magnificent.  Oh, they got the blight, too, but they were made of hardier stuff and if you cut out the black bit, were just fine to eat.  And of course, Mr. Groundhog completely destroyed the Brussels Sprouts and broccoli, so I won't even go into that heartache (again).

But getting back to the peppers . . . we got one full-sized (and that was on the small side) pepper, which I allowed to fully ripen.  It was a beauty and I lovingly tended it for about 6 weeks.  One other plant produced a pepper, but it rotted on the stem.  Then in September, the second plant suddenly bloomed and the next thing you knew, we had three tiny peppers. 

There's the rub--they were TINY peppers.  And so was the acorn squash.  I got that as a freebie from the local nursery.  We bought some annuals and they gave away one free squash plant.  Unfortunately, I put the little squash in the driest part of the yard.  I faithfully watered it, but the water seemed to flow downhill away from the squash.  Still, I got some beautiful glads, so I can't complain too much.

Hubby couldn't get over how darned cute that little squash was.  To convey the size, I figured I'd better include something to give it scale.  We haven't eaten the squash yet--and I wonder will we get get a teaspoon each--but it is awfully cute, don't you agree?

Was it something I said?

The other day I got a startling phone call from my literary agent:  she's leaving the business.
Talk about a shock!  There's a lot going on in my life right now--most of it not very good--so this piece of news was not welcome. 

I've never actually met my agent in person, but we've exchanged hundreds of e-mails and talked on the phone more than a few times, and she is the reason I am where I am today.  She was my fourth agent.  She took a chance on me, she's gone over my contracts with a fine tooth comb and fought for me.  I'm extremely grateful for everything she's done for me . . . and heartbroken that she's leaving the business.

This is the second agent I've had who's decided to leave the business.  That two of my agents should leave the business makes me wonder . . . is it me?

Nah!  I'm just being paranoid.

The silver lining in all this is that I don't have to go looking for a new agent (which is a roller coaster ride, more spills than thrills).  My agent's partner is taking on a portion of her clients, and I'm one of them.  My friends who have this particular agent love her, and sing her praises.  I feel very lucky she's taking me on and feel confident we'll have a long and happy business relationship.

I'm also very impressed with the way my current agent and my new agent work.  When my third agent left the business, I heard it secondhand.  She didn't bother to tell her clients she'd quit until weeks after the event.  But on Wednesday, I spoke to my current and new agent within an hour of each other. They were both concerned that there'd be a smooth transition and that their clients would be happy--the hallmark of professionalism.

Too many things seem to be changing in my life all at once.  So what could've been a negative experience is looking pretty positive.  It's quite a relief.

PET PEEVE THURSDAY: Whatever happened to maternity clothes?

There seems to be a baby explosion in my town.  Everywhere I go I see young pregnant women, but none of them seem to be wearing maternity clothes.  You know, baggy clothing that actually looks comfortable instead of tight-fitting fabric stressed at the seams.

These soon-to-be mothers must be on a tight budget, because they're wearing everything they wore before they became pregnant, and it's not attractive.  This lets-not-wear-maternity-clothes trend may have started when Demi Moore posed pregnant and nude on the cover of Vanity Fair back in 1991.  It "sparked controversy," but I think it made a lot of pregnant women feel beautiful.  The problem is--not all pregnant women LOOK like Demi Moore.

Maybe I'm just old-fashioned, with my Crocs and sweats, but comfortable clothing will always be my first choice.

And what's bugging YOU today?

I FEEL SO ALONE . . .

Every year I go through this:  I feel regret that I didn't go to a conference.  This week is Bouchercon--the BIG mystery conference.  This year it's in Indianapolis, which is drivable for me. 

There are a lot of reasons I decided not to go all those many months ago, and if I'd signed up, I would've had to cancel for personal reasons anyway.  But still--all my online pals are either on their way to Indianapolis, or there a day early for the big Sisters In Crime event.  The Guppies will be gathering for lunch on Friday (I missed their gathering in Washington in May because I had lunch with my editor, and I wouldn't have missed that for the world--but I did miss not connecting with my Guppy sisters en mass).

Already my friends are posting on Facebook and Twitter.  I read their reports and feel wistful.  And yet, I decided NOT to go.

I hate crowds.  Bouchercon is CROWD CENTRAL.  When I went in 2006, I felt so overwhelmed.  I was in the overflow hotel two blocks from the conference hotel, and when I escaped, I escaped for hours--not a few minutes.  I had to haul books up and down a hill.  It was awful.  (Not that our hotel was awful.  It was nice.  And they even gave us a "stay one night free" coupon, which I gave to one of my Guppy sisters who lived in Wisconsin.)

I wasn't sure I could afford it.  (Turns out, I could!)

I'm going to jump back into the WIP today and try not to think of all my friends having fun while I'm working hard and not having fun.

Bummer.

My Artist Date

If you've read Julia Cameron's THE ARTIST'S WAY, you know about artist dates.  Basically, it's doing something you enjoy that refills your creative well.
Saturday, I needed an artist date, but I wasn't sure I had the patience to break out of my routine and do something.  I've been wanting to get a picture frame for several weeks, and decided that I could do that and squeeze in an artist date at the same time.  So I headed off to Joann, Etc. and their picture frame department.

I love to hit craft stores.  I love looking at all the scrapbooking stuff (even though I don't do scrapbooks), and the rubber stamps, the papers, the Christmas Ornaments (they're already 30% off at Joann, Etc.) the candles, the seasonal fabrics (even though I don't sew), etc.

I usually buy my picture frames at yard sales.  But finding frames you can hang are a challenge.  Most of them are "table top" frames.  And, Joann, Etc. only had table top frames.  Bummer.  So off I went to A.C. Moore down the road.  This store has a different feel, and is smaller, but they seem to have a lot of different stuff.  I totally resisted the urge to check out the wedding aisle--it's been 18 years since I got married, but I just love looking at all the wedding stuff--the Jordan Almonds, the netting, etc.  And I had to avoid the pen aisle, too, else I'd be heading home with a ton more gel pens (that I don't need).   They had a great assortment of frames and I found the perfect one for my photo.
 And, luckily, it was on sale for 40% off.  Win-win!

So where do you go for your artist dates?

KEEPING TRACK OF THINGS

It's no secret that I have a memory like a sieve.  It's just that I have so much on my mind, I can't keep track of every single detail of my life.  Especially my books.  That's why I've created a Bible for each of my series.  (That's what they call such a document in "the trade.") Okay, I'm behind on the Jeff Resnick Bible.  Just haven't gotten around to it.  Besides, I know Jeff, Richard, and Brenda better than I know myself.

My Booktown Bible has come in really handy when I need to remember what color eyes Mr. Everett has or the name of Tricia's attorney (who hasn't shown up since the first book--but needed to be mentioned in the fourth book).

I'm currently working on my Victoria Square Bible.  It consists of a list of characters, their traits and a description (however brief) of what they look like, a list of businesses, facts about the little town of Jones Mill (which may or may not be changed by the final draft--I'm leaning toward changing it.  One caveat:  it's got to have "Mill" as the second word -- but I'm open to ANY suggestion), etc.

Besides being a vital aid to writing the subsequent books, creating this bible is a great way to actually keep from writing.
What are you doing to keep from working on your work-in-progress?

In My Hot Little Hands . . .

The doorbell rang a while ago.  That always sends at least two of the cats into a frenzy.  YIKES--STRANGERS!  Now why they are terrified is beyond me.  For one thing, we don't, as a rule, have serial killers visiting.  In fact, usually we only have family visiting.  And those family members are known to them and feed them.  (Then again, when they visit, they just put the key in the door and DON'T ring the doorbell.  Maybe the cats are smarter than I give them credit for.)

Usually, it's just a delivery.  No person comes in.  They just dump a box or envelope on the step and take off again.  That was the case this morning when the Fed-X guy rang the bell.  And inside that familiar white bubble-envelope was one copy of my next book, Bookplate Special, and three cover flats.

Yee-ha!  It's a real book!

Years and years ago, my friend Doranna Durgin told me that getting that first copy of your book never gets old.  She was right.  When Frank yelled, "Fed-X man!" I knew what it would be and I ran to the front door and frantically cut open the envelope -- and -- yes, did a little Snoopy Happy Dance.

The rest of you don't have to wait too long to get the book, either.  It will be released on November 3rd.  I'm anticipating that it'll start showing up in bookstores a week or two before that date.  This book is special to me.  I got to write about something that's important and hopefully it'll be a teaching moment, but not a preachy one.

And speaking of the book, I just got a copy of the review that's in Romantic Times.  Of Bookplate Special, they said:  "The third top-notch Booktown mystery is a cleverly plotted cozy with everything a reader could want: mystery books, delicious food and bad guys. With its bookstore setting and small-town charm, this series is bound to be a favorite for cozy readers."
I'd say that was worthy of a Snoopy Happy Dance.

I want my cuppa tea!!!

Three months ago I had a violent stomach bug.  I never spent a night puking for so long and so hard in my life.  The next day, I lay on the couch eating (saltless) Saltines and watching old movies because my stomach was so upset.

I figured it would go away in a day or two.  And it didn't.  And didn't.

For weeks, I kept discovering foods I dared not eat for getting killer heartburn.  Anything with tomatoes.  Anything with vinegar.

Cutting out tomatoes was tough.  A lot of what I eat has tomatoes as a base.  So I ate my spaghetti with Parmesian cheese and herbs (as my friend Lee Rowan used to make--and probably still does).  I had no Indian food for two l-o-n-g months.  Nothing seemed to work for me, despite the bottles of Malox I drank, and the hundreds of antacid tablets I downed, until I found Prelief.  (I should take out stock in the company.)  I'd down a couple (okay, maybe as many as five) of these little white pills and it neutralized the acid.  Gradually, my stomach healed enough to reintroduce these acidic foods.

Except for one thing:  tea.

Now, for as long as I can remember, I have started my day with a cup (or pot) of tea.  I had to give up caffeine back in the 1980s, and learned to love decaf tea.  (Okay, ENGLISH decaf tea.  There's a big difference in taste.  American teas are pretty wimpy.)  Even with seven Prelief tablets, nothing seemed to help.  To add insult to injury, I'd purchased 11 boxes of my favorite Typhoo tea (that's 880 tea bags) just about the time this all started.

I was letting myself have one cup of tea a week to see if the old stomach could handle it.  Usually I choose Mondays, figuring I'd have the rest of the week to recover before I tried again.  It was only a week ago that I had a cup of tea and didn't get heartburn.  That made me braver.  I tried again (only that time I didn't have anything to eat with the tea).  Ugh.  Heartburn.  So I tried with food (and Prelief) again.  Ah, success!  Yesterday, I had tea with just Prelief.  Yea!  No heartburn.  And I've done it again today.  (Okay, it's kind of early, but I've got my fingers crossed.)

I can't tell you how wonderful it has been to have that one cup of tea most mornings for the last week.  Oh how I've missed it.  But it's only one cup.  I can't wait until I can get back to drinking a whole pot of tea and without taking Prelief first.  On that day I will celebrate--with another cup of tea.

Have you had to give up something you love to eat or drink, and how did you handle it?

Light My Fire

Okay, not THAT fire -- but will somebody please light a fire under my butt?  For the past week I've been dabbling in so many things, trying to get stuff accomplished, and definitely NOT succeeding.

As my Dad would say, my "head is full of tommyrot."  I have so much on my mind that I seem to flit from one thing to another leaving a trail of things undone.  I have the best of intentions, but I also get easily distracted.  Oh, I better do a load of laundry.  So I do.  And then I forget about it and three days later I have to wash it again because it stinks. 

I have e-mails that need answering, and I mark them "keep as new" on my account, and then they get further down on the list and I forget about them until I have so many emails I have to start deleting and then--oh my!--there's that one I meant to answer two weeks ago.

I'm drowning in minutiae. 

How did I ever accomplish anything when I had a full-time job?

Rain Rain Go Away--NOW!!!

We had a very WET spring and early summer.  And then we had a very hot, dry late summer.  And now we're into fall.  A very WET fall.

When they threw the switch from summer to fall, they also threw the perpetual GLOOM switch, too.  It rained a good portion of the weekend (okay, if it wasn't raining, it was at least extremely dreary).  It rained really hard several times yesterday, with gusts of wind that ranged from 25-50 miles, depending on where you were in the area.  It knocked my bean poles down (but I triumphed over nature and tied them up again).

This morning I awoke to the sound of rain on the roof.  Now, I happen to LOVE the sound of rain on the roof.  But then I had to get up.  I look out my office window and it's gray out.  The big silver pool cover is now on the pool (looking like a giant piece of duct tape) and the water is puddling on top.  (We'll probably have to pump it off a couple of times before winter comes.)

It's windy out.  It's cold.  It's the dark side of autumn.

Hurry spring.

And what's the weather like where you are?

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--Sodium in processed food

One of the good things our government has actually done for us is mandate nutrition labels on our food. The problem is--is anybody reading that material besides me? I know members of my family don't because they haven't got a clue about the amount of sodium they're ingesting.

On one of my diets, low these many years ago, I learned to substitute pepper for salt. They told us (was it Diet Workshop, or Nutrisystem . . . one of them, anyway) that SALT MAKES YOU RETAIN WATER, and water is heavy. Fine. I got used to skim milk and dumping half a shaker of pepper on my food and learned to actually love it.

I don't cook with salt. I even cut the amount of salt in the recipes I include in my books because YOU DON'T NEED AS MUCH AS EVERYONE SEEMS TO THINK YOU DO.
That's why I'm really rather horrified by the amount of salt in any processed food. I used to eat curried beans. I'd buy a generic can of black beans or black-eyed peas, dump them in a saucepan, add some curry paste, heat through, serve on rice--and voila! A quick lunch.  Not anymore.  Now I buy dried beans and cook them in the crock pot (without adding any salt).  Of course I have enough to feed an army, but luckily I like beans.

And have you noticed that low-sodium canned foods (soup, in particular) is usually DOUBLE the price of "regular" canned food?  (It is at my grocery store.) How does this encourage the population at large (especially in these economic times) to lower their sodium intake?

I keep seeing articles in the newspaper Living section about the need to cut sodium in our diets because it's killing us.  An enormous amount of our population--including children--is on meds to lower their blood pressure.  And why?  Because of the amount of sodium they're ingesting.

A big part of the problem is fast food.  For instance, according to Wikipedia, a Big Mac has 42% of your daily requirement of sodium. (There's a reason I stay away from these places.)  What about the fries and the rest of the food someone typically ingests on any given day?  I've also given up eating any restaurant soup, too.  Why?  Too salty!

The government seems to want to regulate everything else in our lives--why not the amount of sodium food processors are allowed to add to food?

Salt, salt, salt, salt, S-A-L-T!!!

I know one thing--I don't want to have a stroke, so I watch my sodium intake.  Everybody should.
And what's bugging YOU today?

And in between promo I have to do what???

Okay, it's been 12 days since I turned in my last book and time to jump back into the book that is due on December 1st.

But wait--I've got a book coming out on November 3rd and I must promote!

For the past 5-6 weeks, I've spend every minute of my (so-called) free time signing bookmarks.  I signed 1400 of the new bookmarks and 840 of my "combo" (listing the first two books in the series) bookmarks. These bookmarks were destined for wonderful independent bookstores.  These are the people on the front lines who are handselling my books. (Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!)  Of course, there are many chain booksellers handselling my books, but they haven't made themselves known to me or requested bookmarks.

Yesterday I took my second HUGE tote bag full of packages to the Post Office.  You can't tell me they're losing money--not with all I've spent this year.

Over the weekend, I signed 112 postcards (adding three stickies--address label, message label, and polar bear stamp).  These are for bookclubs.  I've still got another 469 to sign and sticker for my faithful readers.

Can you say WRITERS CRAMP???

So far I've got four blog posts written for my blog tour.  (Okay, so I only have three dates set up--I hope there's still time to find more.)  I have five of six weekends booked for promotion in November and December (and I'm trying to decide if I should go to the CrimeBake conference on the week I don't have anything planned).

And sometime during all this promo -- I have to finish another book. (The first in the Victoria Square Mysteries.)  Luckily, the book is in good shape--but still, it needs work.

Is it any wonder I'm yanking my hair out in hanks?

WHO THREW THE SWITCH?

Holy Crap!  It's fall!

I mean, I waited a-l-l winter for spring, which came and went, and then it was summer.  Ahhh...summer.  The roses bloom.  You plant cosmos (which always disappoint me) and other annuals, plus the veggie crop (we've had green beans for dinner almost every night for at least four weeks) and now the counter is overflowing with tomatoes.

But sitting out on the enclosed porch in the evening is getting to be a tad uncomfortable.  Instead of wearing T-shirts, it's suddenly sweatshirt weather.  (And my big blue sweater has come back out of the closet.  Heck, I'm wearing it as I type this!)  I've also taken to (gasp) wearing my slippers, because my feet are cold.

The catnip is starting to shrivel up.  (Chester doesn't mind.  He prefers dried to fresh catnip.)  The perky black-eyed Susans aren't so perky anymore.  In fact, they're turning a disgusting brown.  The arborvitae is turning orange--its version of "needle cast," as it gets ready to toss it's old leaves (?) onto the pool cover.

And today the calendar confirmed it:  the first day of fall.  Next thing you know, the leaves will fall off the trees en mass.  We'll be raking until our hands flap with blisters.  It'll rain five days out of seven.

Snow can't be far behind.

Bummer.

Pet Peeve Thursday (FRIDAY EDITION): Pets locked in hot cars

Yesterday I came out of Sam's Club and walked toward my car, noticing that a car parked nearby (a shiny, new-looking, white Mercury Marquis) with the cutest little black poodle sitting on the rear window ledge, panting, with its tongue hanging out. (It looked just like the picture at right.)  I circled the car and saw that only one window was open, and less than two inches.

What to do, what to do.

I had another errand to do at the end of the plaza, and decided that if the dog was still there when I was done with that errand, I would do something.

While it wasn't a really hot day, when I got in it, my own car was damn hot after sitting there for only ten minutes.
I came back ten minutes later, and the dog was still there. I took down the license number and went back into Sam's Club. The woman at the door said, "there's nothing we can do legally." Oh yeah? I told her I would go to the service desk and report it anyway. And I did. The woman on duty took down the information, got on the public address system and said, "Will the owners of the white Mercury Marquis, Licence number XXX-XXX please go to your car. Your dog needs assistance." She repeated the announcement.

I thanked her and went back to my car.
And waited.

After another ten minutes, I called nine one one.

Then I waited some more.  In fact, I waited another twenty-three minutes.  During that time, the little dog got pretty agititated, panting a lot harder.  And I got a lot angrier.

The woman I'd originally spoken to at Sam's Club came out after 15 minutes from my call and asked, "Is that dog still in the car?"

I told her "yes."

Needless to say, the police didn't show up.  When the older woman and her husband came out to the parking lot, I asked her, "Is this your car?"

"Yeah."

"I just want you to know I've called nine one one and gave them your license number. Your dog has been locked in that hot car for at least 43 minutes that I know of."

She said, "Mind your own business," and walked to the car, took the dog out, then helped her husband unload their cart.

The woman from Sam's came out again.  "Did you confront her?" she asked.

"Yes, and she blew me off."

She shook her head.  Now she was almost as upset as me.

The older woman abandoned her cart (why is it people can't put their carts in the return--and doesn't this say more about her (lack of) character)) and kissed her little dog.

"You're kissing your dog now.  But what if he'd died in that hot car?"

"I've been checking on him every five minutes since I went into the store."

Somehow, I refrained from yelling:  LIAR!!!  Instead, I said:  "I've been standing here for over twenty minutes and you have not been out here once."

This time she screamed at me, "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS."

The whole ordeal was incredibly upsetting.  That thoughtless woman does not deserve to have a wonderful little dog like that.

What should I have done differently?

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--Discarded Gum

Is there anything more disgusting than seeing someone spit onto the pavement and walk away, leaving something behind for you to step in?  Gross as that is--it's almost as gross to see, or step in--a fresh wad of sticky gum.

Our new Wegmans store had been open two days when we finally got around to visiting it and we were astounded at how many gum cuds littered the fresh asphalt outside the store.  Just yesterday I did my shopping and as I walked toward the store, I passed a nicely landscaped area and there they were, a number of gum cuds.  One bright green wad of gum really stood out against the fresh, brown mulch.

Not ten feet from this huge wad of gum was a garbage container--not to mention all the gum on the asphalt.  What is wrong with people that they can't discard their disgusting (possibly germ-filled) gum in the proper place?

Grrrrrrrrrr!

And what's bothering YOU today?

It's ALIVE!!!

I’ve had to do a lot of cooking and baking while testing the recipes I include in my Booktown Mystery series. For the most part, it’s fun. (Okay, maybe not that time I had to make and remake the savory muffins until my husband pleaded with me to STOP ALREADY!!!) But there’s one thing I have never attempted: anything with yeast.

Well, sort of.

Years ago, I attempted to make homemade pizza. I didn’t want to bother with yeast, so I bought a roll of frozen bread dough, which the recipe’s author assured me was A-OK with her. I followed the package directions, added my sauce, pepperoni, and vegetables on top and popped it in the oven. Some 20 minutes later I was horrified to open the oven and find that my pizza dough had risen to about three inches high, knocking off most of my toppings. And that’s when I realized it: the yeast in the dough was ALIVE and probably had been out to get me.

Gulp.

One of my favorite coffee table books is The Romance of Country Inns by Gail Grecco. In it, she includes a recipe for cinnamon rolls. She has included a gorgeous photograph (of not only the cinnamon rolls, but of Sedona, AZ as a backdrop. (Gail’s husband Tom Bagley is a professional photographer and has taken photos for most of her cookbooks.) I must have had that book for a decade (or more) and looked at that lovely photo and longed to make those cinnamon buns, except . . . they’re made with yeast.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to assemble the ingredients to make bread, right? Then why does the thought of adding that little yeast packet to warm water terrify me so? Is it because it’s a living thing, or that it might go out of control – or is my mother’s not-so-great results at breadmaking. (If you ask her, she’ll say every loaf was a success—okay, they were, if you ate it right out of the oven and spread with a lovely layer of butter, but otherwise– Sorry, Mum.)

I’m determined to make those darn cinnamon buns one day. In fact, I’ve assembled at least ten different versions of the recipe in hopes that one day I’ll gather up my courage and JUST DO IT.
But not just yet. I have to find the courage to do so.

And what are you afraid to cook?

Oh how I LOVE to get royalty checks

Yesterday, I was having a really BAD morning.  It was meltdown time.  Tears, noseblowing, the works.  And then I came home and found an envelope from one of my publishers in the mailbox.
No, it didn't take away from my upset, but it did make me smile.  Why?  Not because it was a huge check.  It wasn't.  In fact, it was for $9.04.  But since the audiobook for Murder on The Mind had only been out about two weeks before the end of the royalty period, and most publishers won't even cut a check for less than $25 -- I was delighted to see anything.  (Hubby suggested I take him to McDonalds for lunch.)

Mind you, there was absolutely no promotion for the audiobook.  I haven't done much because -- how do you promote it?  (And if you have any ideas on that, I would LOVE to hear it.) So getting a royalty check is pretty amazing.

Next month I hope to get a much bigger royalty check for my better selling books.  I'm looking forward to that.  (There's a roof that needs fixing, etc.)  But that doesn't take away from the pleasure I got from that little check, because Murder On The Mind is the little book that could.  It came out as a hardcover that did not sell well.  It came out as a paperback and sold over 21,000 copies.  Now it's out in audio and as a Kindle download.  Just this morning, I got an e-mail from a reader in Canada who'd found the book.  I'm so pleased that people are still discovering the Jeff Resnick series.   And despite the series currently being on hiatus, I haven't given up that all the books (including the two that haven't yet been published) will find a bigger audience.


I'm crossing my fingers as hard as I can.

Poached!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen pears or salmon poached on various cooking shows. (About ten years ago, you couldn’t open a cookbook or a magazine without some poor pear being scalded to death.)

About the only thing I’ve ever eaten poached is eggs. I didn’t even realize I liked them until I made them a few years ago for my parents when we were all at the family’s summer cottage. Of course, this was the first time I’d ever made them and I realized why I’d never liked them before. My folks like theirs runny so that they have something to soak into their toast. I like my eggs poached HARD. (I also eat my fried eggs broken and cooked hard.)

They (and the cottage they outfitted) had special pans with rings and little poaching cups. The problem was, they were made for four eggs. I have seen plastic poaching cups you can use in the microwave, but to tell you the truth, I don’t trust them. Hey, look at the plastic baby bottles the government okay’d and now they’re saying—hold it! Don’t heat the milk in those bottles, because potentially hazardous chemicals leach out of the plastic and into the milk.

Therefore, I figured poached eggs were only for larger gatherings (my husband won’t eat them) or cook one or two and waste all that energy on the stove. I voiced that opinion and Mom casually said, “Why don’t you just poach an egg in a coffee mug in the microwave?”

Hello! Can you say breakfast in a jiffy?

Okay, it did take me a few tries before I got it right—and heaven forbid if you forget to prick the yoke before you nuke it. KABOOM! Exploded egg all over the microwave.  (In fact, it doesn't hurt to prick the egg several times.  Seems like when I fork it, it never explodes.)

I use a standard coffee mug, fill it with about an inch of boiling water right out of the kettle, drop in an egg or two (depending on how hungry I am) and zap it for about 90  seconds, drain off the water, and pop my little poached egg onto a plate with a dollop of butter, a generous shake of pepper, and a side of toast. Mmmm. Nice hot breakfast.

What’s your favorite quick, hot breakfast?

Promo is FUN! (?)

For the past few days, I've been sitting in my office surrounded by the things I need for promotion for my upcoming BOOKPLATE SPECIAL.  Thousands of bookmarks, postcards, bubble envelopes, stamps, labels and lists and lists of addresses (most in disarray, despite the fact I've been working on them off and on for months).

And now I realize -- oops -- I ought to do a blog tour, too.

I must be out of my mind.  I try (often don't make it) to post here five days a week, plus I blog for Writers Plot (Tuesdays) and The Cozy Chicks (Saturdays).  Sometimes it's hard to come up with a blog posts.  For this blog, I feel like I'm hanging out with friends (Hi, y'all!), but for WP and CC I feel a bit more pressure to be . . . well, ON.  And now I need to be ON a few guest blogs during November to push the book.  So I guess I should start contacting people with blogs and asking to guest post.

*Sigh*

I've have LOTS of blogging friends, so it's not like I'll hear "NO WE DON'T WANT YOU," but the thing is . . . once I have a confirmation, I've got to write the blog posts.

Actually, I've often thought that I had nothing of particular interest to say to warrant being a guest anywhere, but Bookplate Special is a different kind of book.  It has two themes that I should be able to mine for lots of blog posts, so that's good.  But we're back to . . . writing the posts.

Didn't I just wish for more hours in the day???

Happy Labor Day!

Okay, I admit it.  I never actually knew what Labor Day was all about until I decided to take a look on Wikipedia.  As a kid growing up, I didn't care.  Labor Day meant the last Monday before dreaded school started, and oh yeah--the Jerry Lewis Telethon.  (And how come he raised all that money and they still don't have a cure, eh?)

 After I started working, Labor Day meant a three-day weekend.  It also meant the end of cottage season.  My brothers would yank their boats out of the water, haul in the water line, and you were done with summer.  (Thanks to electric heat and municipal water, cottage season can now be extended by two months on both ends of the summer.)

Today Labor Day means . . . labor.  I'm gearing up for promotion for my next book (Bookplate Special, and it's already available for pre-ordering (although why they call it PRE-ordering when you can just ORDER it is beyond me).  I've been writing press releases (okay, just one--but I've been working and reworking it), signing bookmarks, working on my mailing lists, and getting my print orders, well, ordered).  Hopefully there'll be some time for a cookout or at least some kind of easy-to-assemble dinner, because I'm planning to work at this ALL DAY.

And how are you celebrating Labor Day?